


Reach out and Touch Faith

by h0tbl00ded



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, M/M, PWP, at some point, slow burn i guess
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-21
Updated: 2020-02-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:20:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,091
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22833934
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/h0tbl00ded/pseuds/h0tbl00ded
Summary: Daryl and Jesus go on a run, someone tries to steal their car. it doesn't end well, and then it does.
Relationships: paul 'jesus' rovia/original male character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 14





	1. Not So Smooth Criminal

**Author's Note:**

> alright a couple things to say:
> 
> im gonna switch pov's every chapter from raph to jesus
> 
> let me know if you want info on raph, and i'll put a link to his thread on twitter
> 
> thank you so, so much Roman, you were tons of help <3

Raphael Flores stood on top of a building, overlooking this desolate city. Not New Orleans, his home, that was overrun by the undead. No, this was Atlanta. And yeah, this place had the undead too, but nothing like what he'd seen. He was somewhat on the outskirts, where the buildings weren't skyscrapers, but he could still use them to travel, rather than trying to brave the roads. 

He hasn't had much luck with groups: apparently he was 'too brash', 'too outspoken' and 'too reckless'. So he'd been kicked out of two so far, and now he was on his own, hunting for food, and ammo. His shotgun rested comfortably on his back, a reminder that he was relatively safe, from both the living, the dead, and anything else. 

Unfortunately, the walk to Atlanta had been filled with danger. The worst part was that it wasn't the undead that bothered him. He was smart enough to cover himself in the putrid guts before heading out, but no. Groups of feral people roamed the woods, and they scavenged what they could from each other, killing, fighting, beating. Raphael suppressed a shudder as he remembered the brutality he had witnessed, a spray of blood, a wet crunch of a skull. 

Then something caught his eye. A car, driving toward the residential area. Promising. He followed the car, jumping from building to building, until he was forced to climb down a gutter, and sneak in the shadows. From what he could tell, there were only two people, one driving, one apparently jamming out to whatever music was playing. He ducked behind a bush as they rolled to a stop, and they both got out. He could hear some of their conversation, and held his breath so he could focus. 

"Stay here, Jesus, I'll take care of it."

"Are you sure? I'd be more than happy to-" 

"Stay. This house 's already been cleared, I'll just run in an' grab what's left." 

The guy named Jesus - could you get any more conceited? - merely waved the other guy off, and leaned against the car. Raphael raised an eyebrow as he crept closer to get a better look. Conceited was the right word, all right. How much product did this guy have to use to keep his hair that fucking shiny? Not to mention untangled. He huffed, rueing his own curly mess of hair. 

Raphael figured he could probably take this guy called Jesus, if it came to that. He didn't look like much, not with the hair, the beard, the hat, the dramatic coat. He hefted his bat in his hand, mind racing to think of a plan. The other guy, Greasy Hick, had a crossbow. You don't come into the apocalypse with a crossbow unless you're good with it. Chances were, he would get hit by a bolt if he wasn't quiet about this. Okay. 

Lifting a brick that was used to line a garden bed, he chucked it as hard as he could through a window. The breaking glass caught Jesus's gaze, and he trotted over to the source of the noise. As soon as he disappeared, Raphael ran over to the car, and got in, wincing as he accidentally slammed the door shut. Fuck. 

Thankfully, the keys were still in the ignition, and he scrambled to turn them, but they fell out. GodDAMNit! He rushed to get them back in, and as he did, and finally turned the engine on, he was met with a knock on his window. He barely gave Jesus half a glance before he slammed the pedal down, and took off down the road. Finally, he was free! 

Then, there was a loud bang, and the car got bumpy, and driving it became more squirrely, and he tried to get away, he did. However, he didn't see the undead right in front of him until the last moment, and he swerved to avoid it. Doing so resulted in him flipping the car, and his whole world going black as the airbag was triggered. 

When he awoke, everything hurt, especially his face. His bag was gone, and so was the weight of the shotgun. He felt sunshine on his face, and hot pavement on his back. He heard the two men talking again, and he made sure to keep his breathing slow so they didn't notice anything amiss with him. 

"He totaled the car! We can't take him with us!" angry, probably pointing the crossbow at him. 

"I believe I remember you and Rick having a similar discussion about me. Now look where we are." Jesus's voice was surprisingly soft, and soothing. 

"But- that was completely different! This guy, ugh, we can't take him! Look at him, he's covered in blood!" 

"Not all that different. As for the blood… I'm sure you've noticed that he reeks."

"To high heaven an' back, what's your point?" 

A sigh. Footsteps, and breath, very close to Raphael. Fingers prodding his shirt, and pulling at it. "Look. Chunks of flesh. Didn't Rick say that he used walker guts to walk with them to get somewhere? Maybe he figured that out as well. Or, you could just tell us, because honestly, you're not fooling anyone."

Fuck. Raphael opened his eyes, and he met Jesus's, shockingly bright and blue, piercing through his soul. He swallowed, tearing his eyes away to look up at Greaseball, who was glaring at him so hotly, he was surprised he didn't burst into flames. "I. Yeah. I had killed a bunch of the undead, got covered in their crap, ran into a herd of them, and they didn't even care. So, it's what I do, when I travel long distances." he turned back to Jesus, his eyes narrowing. "Not that you'd do that. Might fuck up your hair." he attempted to breath through his nose, and immediately regretted it, searing pain shooting through his face. "Son of a bitch…" he cursed, bringing his hands up to his face, trying to feel the damage, while ignoring the dirty looks he was receiving. 

"You're right. It might. I'm Jesus."

"I heard."

"Not going to tell me your name?" 

"Like Jesus is your real name."

"Fair point. But, I'm sure I have a valid counterpoint in the fact that: you tried to steal our car. I don't trust you."

"Nngh." Raphael grunted in reluctant agreement. "Raphael. People used to call me Raph."

"Named after a damn ninja turtle…" Greasy snickered, temporarily lowering his weapon. 

Jesus clucked, and shook his head. "Raphael is also an angel, Daryl. Was your mother Christian?" 

It was Raphael's turn to laugh. "You're both wrong. My father named me after his favorite Renaissance artist." sitting up, and ignoring the sounds of metal shifting - an ever threatening crossbow - he brought his arms up, and in one quick movement, he fixed his nose. He was more than qualified to do it by now, having done it for many an unruly customer at his old bar. When he was done, he gave Daryl a dirty look, and spat out blood at his feet. 

Daryl stepped back, his nose wrinkling in disgust, but Jesus merely sighed. "Well, I was hoping we could discuss your options like civil adults…" 

"Alright. Tell your henchman to back the fuck off."

"I ain't no henchman, you piece of sh-" Jesus cut him off with a look, and he stepped away, but he didn't lower his weapon. "Fine. Fine! Just so you know, angel, Jesus here can kick your ass into nex' week." 

"I'll believe it when I see-" Raphael snorted, but he too was cut off. Not by a look, but by Jesus shoving him to the ground, and shoving his forearm into Raphael's neck. 

"You're going to shut up, now. Okay? We've had a long day. You trashed our car, and our camp is several hours away. We won't make it there in the dark. Daryl wants to kill you, but I don't. Understand so far?" 

Raphael did his best to nod, wheezing through the choke, and Jesus's knee pressing into his stomach. 

"Good. So, as a punishment, you're going to help us. We'll unload the car, find an empty house, board it up, and spend the night. Then, we need to find another way to transport our food. Then, if by that time you've proven yourself, we'll ask you three questions, and if the answers are… Satisfactory… We'll let you come.`` Finally, he eased off of Raph. 

He wheezed, and propped himself up on his elbows. "Fuck makes you think I want to come with you?" 

"We have your stuff. We all make it to tomorrow, you get it. And by then, I'm sure I can change your mind."

"Ha, yeah right. Gonna make me a believer?" 

That earned him a wry smile. "I'll also tell you my real name, how about that? Deal?" 

Raphael considered for a moment. These two were clearly capable. That means he'd be guaranteed at least another night of being alive. In the meantime, he could try to steal some of their things… Or...he could join them, if they let him. He wasn't too sure about Daryl, though. Jesus seemed… Okay. Raphael was a little pissed that he'd gotten the better of him, though. And it was strange the way the two of them were out here like this. "... Fine. Deal. Can I stand up without Trigger Happy shooting me?" 

"Yeah, sure. I'll just go and tell him the deal, okay? Stay put." 

He got to his feet, and as soon as Jesus walked over to Daryl, and his back was to Raphael, he took off running through a pair of houses, hearing exasperated shouting behind him. For a while he was sure that they hadn't followed him, weaving through the houses, deserted cars, squeezing through fences. He honestly thought he was Scott-free. Until what felt like a tank crashed into his side, slamming him into the ground. He yelped, and attempted to throw his usual knockout punch, but it was blocked, and his hands were pinned by his head. Jesus Christ. Literally. 

He struggled to get free, but it was all in vain, no matter what he did, he was fucked. Finally, he gave up, staring into Jesus's eyes with a defeated sigh. "Sorry."

"No you're not. But that's okay, it means you're confident. Misguided, but confident."

"I guess."

"Why did you run? We have your things." 

"I can always find replacements."

"You didn't answer my question." 

"I don't trust you, that's all." at that, he averted his eyes, and Jesus sighed, his lie apparent. 

"Bullshit. Tell me why, or I'll break your wrist." His hand moved in such a way, and twisted Raphael's hand in such a way that it twinge painfully, and he yelped. 

"Fuck! Fuck you! Fine! I ran because it's a better way out than when you inevitably kick me out of your little camp!" all the while he was thrashing, and he got free, and managed to land a punch, right on Jesus's jaw. He reeled back for a moment, and Raph used that to shove him to the ground, and punch him again, his other hand grabbing Jesus's shirt for leverage. He got about three in, before he smashed his head into Raphael's, and he lurched back, the skin on his forehead split open. Before his vision returned, he was in another choke hold, this time on his back, with Jesus's arms wrapped tight around him, and his legs as well. 

"Not a bad fighter… Raph. Where'd you learn?" 

"Alleyways. Over a bar. Fuck are you, a ninja?" 

"Something like that." 

They laid there for several minutes, gasping and wheezing, recovering from each other's assault. Jesus's grip loosened over time, but Raph stayed where he was. No way in hell was he trying that again, not like this at least. His head hurt like hell, though at least he knows he hurt Jesus, too. It's the small victories. 

Then, he started laughing. Gotta love random stupid thoughts. "We're… In the fucking apocalypse… And we're wrestling on the ground like kids…" not long after, he heard a quiet chuckle from Jesus, and soon enough, they were side by side on the ground, clutching their stomachs, laughing, complaining that laughing hurt, and laughing some more.

That's how Daryl found them, and all he did was roll his eyes. "Great. I'm out here lookin' for you two, thinkin' that angel here's gone and kicked your ass, but nah, you're fine. Fuckin' weirdos. You coming with us, kid or are you gonna try an' run off again?"

"Fuck, I'm staying. I've had my ass kicked enough today to last me a lifetime." 

"Good. Get your ass up, and help me with the car you wrecked`` Despite looking at the pair of them with distaste, Daryl helped them up, and gave them a quick once - over. "We'll get the car unpacked before walkers show up, then we'll get inside, and clean you two up. Ain't nuthin' serious, but y'all need band aids." 

Raph opted not to say anything while unloading the car - not that he was feeling very up to speaking at the moment, his throat feeling bruised. They had to rip off two of the doors, and by the time they were finished dragging everything into the house, the undead - walkers? - were showing up, dragging their feet and groaning. Daryl shot four, then he grabbed the bolts, and they ran inside. 

“I’ll shove the sofa in front of the door.” His voice was raspy, but Jesus nodded in understanding, moving to help him move the gaudy thing. Daryl set about boarding up the windows, using pieces of furniture, and blankets. 

When everything was set, Raphael went into the bathroom in search of first aid supplies. He caught his reflection in the mirror, and winced. He looked like absolute hell. Dried blood all over his face, his left eye bloodshot, a gash in his forehead, black eyes forming from the break he sustained earlier. Thankfully, the water worked, and he grabbed a cloth, attempting to wash his face. 

“Let me help.” Jesus gave him a gentle smile, and took the washcloth from him. Apparently he'd been there the whole time. Raphael leaned against the sink, and closed his eyes, letting the other wipe the gunk off of his face. “You’re a good fighter. You’re strong, that’s for sure.”

“Ha. Not as good as you.”

“That’s because I’ve been trained. And I trained others in a martial arts academy.” This time, his smile turned bitter. He lost people, it was etched into his face. 

“Sounds fun.”

“It was. What did you do? You mentioned a bar, were you a waiter?”

“No, I was the bartender. Sometimes, customers got unruly, so I had to take care of it.” 

Jesus laughed softly, peering at his face. “Fair. You’re all cleaned up. Mind taking care of me?”

“Sure.” Raphael rinsed the washcloth off, and they switched positions. Gently, he took Jesus’s hat off, and worked from top to bottom, cleaning blood out of his hairline, wincing as he saw the damage he’d done. He had to cup his face to get the blood out of his beard, and when his hand first touched the side of his face, Jesus’s first reaction was to grab his wrist. “I’m not gonna hurt you. You’ve got crap caked into your beard.” He continued what he was doing, regardless of whether or not Jeus would break his wrist. His grip loosened, but it remained, and Raph got a funny feeling it was more for his own comfort, than a precaution.

“There. All good.” Raph paused, looking down at his feet. “I’m not sorry about trying to steal the car, but I am sorry about … that.” He gestured to his bruises, and he nodded. 

“I’m sorry, too. Thank you.” He grabbed his hat, and put it in his pocket. “ Did you look for first aid yet?”

“I was about to.” Raph stepped to the side, and opened the mirror door. “Oh, thank fuck.” He grabbed a bottle of painkillers, showing them to Jesus. 

“Sweet.”  
They both took some ibuprofen, and they left the bathroom. Raph was content to slide down a wall, sit on the floor, and wait for them to kick in. Jesus and Daryl were making places to sleep, as well as grabbing food for the night. He must have passed out, because the next thing he knew, Daryl was nudging his leg, and it was dark outside. 

“Here. Dunno when the last time you ate was, so he made you a pb and j.” Daryl handed him a plate with the sandwich, and Raph accepted it gratefully. “Oh an’ there’s still hot water left in these pipes, so when you’re done, go on an’ take a shower. We already did while you were in la la land.” 

“I… Thank you.”

Daryl grunted, and left him to it. Raphael practically inhaled the sandwich, barely registering that there was honey in it. He hadn’t had a real meal in two weeks, mostly living off of canned fruit, and any squirrels he could catch. In his peripheral vision, he could see Jesus watching him, but he didn’t care. This was the best thing he’d eaten since this whole shitshow started. When he was finished, he got to his feet, and put the plate in the sink. 

“There’s a bedroom across the hall from the bathroom, I pulled out some clothes that might fit you.”

“Thanks. And thanks for the sandwich, I… Yeah.”

Jesus smiled, giving him a nod. He looked more relaxed now, sitting at a dining room table, his trench coat draped over the side, leaning back, his hair falling behind him. He looked like a painting. Beautiful. Something you could admire for hours, a muse that never left you, something that you could spend the entirety of your life chasing, but never grasp. The way he carried himself...

Raphael cleared his throat, shaking his head free of those thoughts. Now really wasn’t the time for that. “Right. Getting in the shower.” he mumbled. He found clothes that would work for him, another thermal, and a pair of jeans. Good enough for him. 

Hot water was a relative term, since Raphael was used to taking boiling hot showers, but this was still nice, and there was still steam. He stood there for several minutes, with his head under the water, watching the pinkish stream coming from his body go down the drain. He took his time cleaning himself, enjoying the smell of the soap, and the sensation of feeling truly human, while it lasted. 

He got out, and quickly dried off, pulling his new clothes on. He came out of the bathroom barefoot, and found Jesus pretty much in the same position as he was, and Daryl by the window, keeping watch with his crossbow. Raphael wondered if it was as much of a comfort item as it was a weapon for him. Not like he was about to ask. He joined Jesus at the table, sitting opposite him, drawing his legs up into ‘criss cross applesauce’ - the little song they sang as kids echoing through his mind - propping his elbows up on the table. “I want a rematch.”

“Oh yeah? So you can get beaten again?”

“No, now that I know how you fight, pretty sure I have a chance.”

“Perhaps. Not right now, I hope.”

“No, hell no. Later. When we both don’t look like shit.”

“Speak for yourself.” Jesus flicked some of his hair over his shoulder with a toothy smile. “Joking. You’re not too bad looking, you know. Definitely better without all of the blood and dirt. Unlike Daryl -” His voice dropped to a mischievous whisper “-who, no matter how much he scrubs, can’t ever seem to get un-grimy.” He chuckled, popping open a can of soda, and sliding it across the table. “It’s the last one, so share.”

Raph took it, and he couldn’t help the wide smile that came to his face when the sweet artificial flavor hit his tongue. There was absolutley no carbonation, and it was kinda warm, but fuck it was good. For a while, they passed it back and forth, just looking at each other in the low candlelight, studying each other. 

“New Orleans?” Jesus asked.

“Born and raised. You?”

“I thought so. You’re good at hiding it, but you have the cajun lilt. I’m from Virginia. Group home, before I found my way out.”

“I just lived with my dad. Dunno where my mom is, he never told me, and I guess I’ll never know now.”

“Did he die?”

“Yeah. I watched him turn, I didn’t know what was going on.”

“So was he…”

“My first undead kill? Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” They sat in silence once again, Raphael running his hands through his curly hair, untangling the mess. “Hey, why do you call them walkers?”

“Um. I just picked it up, I guess. The walking dead, and all that. I suppose undead is more reasonable.”

“True. But walkers - that term makes them less scary, in a way.” the words sounded hollow, but he meant them. If he'd referred to his own father as a walker, rather than an undead person, maybe he wouldn't have had such a hard time putting him down. 

His father had a brain aneurysm. The doctor told them that he had a fifty percent chance of surviving surgery, so his father opted out. Then one day, Raphael went to visit him. They were having fun, fishing on his back porch. He dropped dead, with absolutely no warning. Maybe it was fate that he got to spend one last good day with his father. After that, it went from bad to worse. He rose up, and attacked Raphael, groaning, senseless, unrecognizing. Raphael trapped him in a closet, and sat outside the door, crying for hours, until he had the nerve to do what was right. The memory of the gunshot, and the spray of blood still makes him cold. 

"-okay?" 

"Sorry, what?" 

"I asked if you were okay. You had a weird look on your face." Raphael's face wasn't the only one betraying him tonight. Jesus's brow was furrowed in concern, his blue eyes so transparent with worry. 

"I'm good. Just… Memories." Raphael cleared his throat, shaking the fragments of that day away from his mind, like sweeping broken glass under the rug. No way in hell was he going to tell Jesus about that day. At least… Not tonight. Ever since it started, he had trouble getting close to anyone. No one ever really seemed to understand, or want to understand him. He kind of got why; he acted like a total ass most of the time. 

"Mhhhmmm. I get it." there was a brief tension, where Jesus was looking at him open-mouthed, like he wanted to say something. But he didn't. And Raphael was grateful. Sympathy right now would only feel like a condescending pat. Unwanted, resented. 

Fuck. Raphael wasn't great at being melancholy. "So… Come here often?" he asked, forcing himself to do his trademark cocky grin. Funnily enough, forcing it helped, and after a few seconds, it was real. He laughed. 

"You don't have to do that."

"What?"

"Be a smart ass, act like everything's fine. I get it, you don't trust me. But don't pull that crap with me, don't pretend you didn't just remember something terrible."

"It's what I do. You have your… Ninja skills, I have my witty rebukes."

"That was anything but witty, Raphael." Jesus gave him a pointed look, but a smile came with it, and just like that, Raph was at ease again. The ghost of something grey and aching lingered, but for now, he was okay.

"Actually, though… I do. With Daryl, usually."

"So you two…" Raph raised a questioning eyebrow. 

"Oh, no, God no. He's not looking for that kind of thing. We just work well together."

Raphael noticed that he didn't say anything about himself. "Huh. So -" change the subject, cmon "-this area's good for finding supplies?" 

"Yeah, it's not too bad. Most areas like this have been picked over, but since this is so close to the city, and the big herd they have there, this place is mostly untouched." 

"Whatever works, I guess." Raphael sighed. "Fuck, I need a drink." he got up from the table, determined to find something that was worth a damn, that would get him at least buzzed. 

"There's a stash under th' sink. Bring me a beer and you can take what you want, angel." Daryl spoke from his watch point, giving him a grin. 

Raphael looked, and sure enough, Daryl was right. Wine coolers, stagnant beer, cheap whiskey, and vodka. He opted for the whiskey, making sure to grab the pack of beers, and a couple glasses for Jesus and himself. He set his choices on the table, and gave Daryl his payment. 

"Thanks, kid."

"No problem." he returned to the table to find that Jesus had moved seats, closer to the whiskey, and he was wiping the glasses out with his shirt. He took his seat, this time keeping his legs on the floor. "You much of a drinker?" 

"I can appreciate it. You?" 

"Eh… Only on some occasions." he took the newly clean glass that was offered to him, and he gave himself three fingers worth: a good starting point. He leaned back in his chair, as he did the same for Jesus, until his knee brushed his leg. "Uh, sorry, I'll just-" he went to move his chair, but Jesus shook his head, lifting his glass. 

"Don't. This is good. I mean, unless you-" 

"-I'm good." the words came out quickly, and more eager than Raphael had ever intended. 

"Good." He seemed self satisfied, and though Raphael had moved his leg away, he spread out just enough so that they were touching again. Not outright flirting, if Daryl was watching, he probably wouldn't think anything of it. But that small patch of warmth was just enough to make Raphael's heart beat just a little faster in his chest. Sue him. 

He took a drink of the whiskey, well used to the burning sensation that creeped down his throat, all the way down to his stomach. It honestly wasn't awful. He was scared to say anything, he didn't want to ruin the sort of moment they had going on. Thankfully, Jesus spoke first.

"Where did you get your scar? On your…" he pointed to his eye, gesturing to where the scar was on Raphael's head. 

"Oh. Ha. I jumped out of a window the wrong way. Stung like a fuckin' bitch." 

"I bet. Walkers?" 

"Humans."

"Oh."

"Yeah." simultaneously, they finished their drink. Raph sighed again, and reached for the bottle, only to find himself brushing Jesus's hand. He blushed, but he took the bottle. "Let me do it, it's kind of nice to be pouring again." Jesus nodded, leaning back in his chair, and Raph could feel his gaze upon him, watching him. "Here." he pushed his drink over to him, and this time he could swear that Jesus grazed Raphael's bruised knuckles with his fingertips on purpose. If he did, it worked, and he could feel his face burning up. 

"You sure you were a bartender? Your face is getting awfully red…" his eyes glittered in the low candlelight, and he laughed, hiding his smile behind his glass. 

"Shut up…" Raph gave him a playful shove, and they both leaned back, and moved back, this time closer, like a rubber band in slow motion. They weren't awfully close. Still, the only part that touched each other was their legs under the table. But Jesus was close enough that Raph could smell him. There was no sandalwood, or any other beach themed scent you can think of. He smelled like Irish spring and sweet soda and sharp alcohol, and it was heady and he wanted to get closer. But no, not yet. He couldn't close the gap just yet. He preferred this, the close tension, the waiting. For now, at least. He didn't even know Jesus's real name, after all. 

"No, you don't want that at all, do you?" he was straight up teasing him now, leaning forward on his elbows, hair falling over his shoulders like he was some kind of god. 

"No. Not really." he huffed out another laugh, finishing his second drink. 

"Good, because I didn't plan on it. Daryl can attest to that. How's your head?" he asked, slowly reaching out, a silent ask. 

Raph nodded, and Jesus gently felt his nose, and his forehead. "Better, now that I'm mixing painkillers and alcohol."

"Ha! Say… You were great out there, fixing your nose. You've done that before at your bar."

"Yeah. Usually on other people." 

Daryl moved from his post, and they both jerked back, skittish as they realised they weren't alone. "We should all probably get some sleep. Haven't seen walkers for a while, an' the cans we strung up should wake us up if there is a problem." he sniffed, noticing the matching guilty looks upon their faces. "Everythin' alright?" 

"Yeah, we're just getting drunk, is all." 

"All th' more reason y'all should sleep now. Beat the hangover b'fore it starts." he grabbed the bottle of whiskey from them, and raised it in a mock salute. "I'll be on the couch in the office. Night."

"Night." they said in unison, and Raph rubbed his face, trying to clear his sudden blearieness away. "You want the couch? I'm fine taking the pillow pile. Fucking suburban moms, right?" 

Jesus snorted, and nodded. "Sounds good. Night, Raph."

"Night, Jesus."

They both settled into their respective places, only five feet apart, but it felt like miles. As soon as Raph hit the pile of designer pillows, he almost passed out, but Jesus spoke once more. 

"You're not going to run away again, are you?" 

He thought for a moment, and shook his head. "No. I've got a reason to stay now." and once again, his whole world faded into the welcoming black.


	2. He's got the look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl makes a new friend. Things get gay with Jesus. There's some sad, some fluff. Writing Abraham is hard.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No beta reader, so I apologize for any errors, and I lied, it will be in Raphael's pov until I'm comfy with writing Jesus, and once again, huge thanks to Roman ILY dude

Raphael was awoken the next morning by Daryl, nudging his leg. "Hey, wake up, kid. C'mon, you're helping me pack." He opened his eyes, and rubbed them, looking up at Daryl. Jesus was still fast asleep on the couch, and he gave a questioning look. "Let 'im sleep."

Daryl took him to the kitchen, and tossed a duffle bag at him. "Load up with whatever you can find, that's useful." Raph nodded, and knelt in front of the cupboards, pulling out cans, checking the expiration date, and chucking them in the bag. 

"Hey, Daryl?" he asked, careful to keep his voice low. One, so he didn't wake Jesus up, and two, Daryl seemed like a wild animal. Any sudden noise could spook him, startle him. 

"What?" 

"Your crossbow. When did you learn how to use it?" 

There was a pause, a sudden silence. Then, an exhale. "Been using it to hunt for years. 'Bout you an' your shotgun?" 

"More or less the same. Me and my father, we hunted gators in the summer, as a way of income."

"Gators? How the hell d'you hunt gators?" Daryl came within Raphael's view, and his expression was that of pure curiosity. 

"Uh." Raphael grinned, and he resumed what he was doing, while he spoke. "Hunt isn't exactly the right term. Basically, you set traps up in trees, on the swamp banks, in the water. You bait 'em with some kinda of meat, usually smelly. They bite, they do their death roll to try an' get out, they get more tangled, so they get stuck. You go by in a boat every so often, check the lines, if there's one on, you pull it up, shoot it in the head. Easy." he shrugged, then flinched as Daryl sat on the floor next to him, leaning against the counter. 

"Never heard of that b'fore. Well, I have, I jus' dint know how exactly it was done. Bait, what kinda bait did you guys use?" 

"Mostly chicken, with fish guts. Cheap and easy, and the scaly boys seemed to love it." Raph grinned, closing the cupboard door, and moving to the next one. "What about you, what kinda hunting you do?" 

"Game, deer, possum, birds, whatever I can shoot. Crossbow's easier to maintain than a gun in these situations."

"A bitch to reload though, ain't it?" 

"Nah. Not for me." he looked down at his feet, then back at Raph. "I could show you sometime. If you stay, we could go hunting, if you want." another pause, and the ghost of a smile. "You get it. No one else I've met does."

"Get what?" 

"The hunt. And the…" he trailed off, like his words got stuck in his throat, and he simply pointed at Raphael's back. "When we were checking you fer weapons, I saw the scars, but they look recent."

Raph winced, and he looked away, the smell of his own flesh searing burning in his mind. "Yeah, well. People are assholes."

"Was it…" Another time where Daryl looked like he wanted to ask, but didn't have the gumption to. 

"They were just a group of people, sadistic in every way. The only reason I got away was because some other group came in and massacred them. I barely got away from those assholes." He sighed, brushing away the pain of that night. 

"They might have been Saviors." Jesus's sudden voice startled the pair of them, and they twitched in similar motions. "There's a man named Negan, he has this group… we've been fighting them for awhile."

Raph sighed. That was another reason he wasn't great with groups. He didn't understand conflict with one another. "Well, if they were these...Saviors… Then I'm definitely on your side." he shoved the last can in the bag, and zipped it shut. 

They finished clearing out the house, Raphael somewhat pleased with himself that he’d managed to find common ground with Daryl. Then, just like that, they were ready to go. Daryl took the lead, his crossbow at the ready, with Jesus and Raphael trailing behind. 

“So, I heard you two were getting along.” 

“Yeah, we’ve got some similar hobbies. Redneck fuckery, mostly.” Raphael smiled, and in that moment, he knew that he liked Daryl. Not, like that. But, as a possible friend. He just hoped that it would stay that way. 

“Good. He needs more friends.”

“You’re not his friend?”

“Uh… We met in practically the same way you and I did. I tried to steal a giant supply truck, I got hit in the head several times, it went into a lake. At least we could recover our supplies from a rollover.” Jesus nudged him with his hand, giving him a teasing smile. Raph’s face turned red from embarrassment, and he ducked his head. “Don’t worry about it too much, the car was starting to reek.”

Raph grinned, and shook his head. “It was stupid. I should have tried to take you two out, I didn’t even think that he’d go for the tire.”

“Well, now you know.” Jesus grinned, a bright, wide smile, like the Cheshire cat. All-knowing, like he was about to eat you up. 

They walked for several hours, drinking and eating snacks along the way, just following Daryl, sure that he knew where he was going. Turns out, they had come into town on a different route, but there was a herd blocking that way, so they were actually travelling blind. They only discovered this when Daryl stopped in the middle of the road, and told them that he was briefly lost. 

“What do you mean your lost, you’re a tracker!”

“I said for a few minutes, damn it! I know that Alexandria’s south, so we keep goin’ we should be fine! I jus’ never been down this highway b’fore!”

“You have no fucking clue where we are!”

“Yeah, like you do?!”

“That’s not my job! That’s yours!” 

Raph sighed as they continued arguing. He could run, if he wanted to. But, he didn’t. Not anymore. So, while they were having a dick measuring contest, he wandered over to an abandoned car, hoping to find something of use. He tried the tunk, there wasn’t anything but a tire jack, and a bicycle pump. He sighed, and moved around to the drivers door, opening it. Just a corpse, so he rummaged through the door, grabbing some candy bars. Then the growling started, and the corpse - a walker - attacked him, and he barely got a hand on it’s throat in time. “Guys! Fuck!” It snarled in his face, black goo oozing out of its mouth, and down his arm. “Oh, that’s just fucking disgusting!” He yelled, trying to shove it away, but this one had a mean streak, and it’s lipless mouth snapped towards his face.

Jesus was the one who saved him, pulling it off of him, and Daryl bludgeoned it over the head, effectively spraying the other two in walker brains. 

“...Thanks. I would have taken care of it, but you still have my shit, Daryl.”

“Yeah. About that… uh… should probably have it back now.” He handed the messenger bag to Raph, and after wiping blood off of his face, he nodded a thanks. 

“You’ve got blood in your beard again, Jesus.” Raph pointed, chuckling half-heartedly. 

“You have pieces of skull in your hair… Daryl, can we find some place to clean up?” Jesus gave him a pleading look, and Daryl waved him off.

“Yeah, fine. Don’ want you two smellin’ like ass, followin’ me all fuckin’ day.” Daryl stomped off, gesturing for the other two to follow him. “No point checkin’ the car out, the engine’s missin’. I think I saw a cabin ‘bout a half hour ago.” 

Raphael shook his head, amused. “Yeah. We’re the smelly ones.”

“I wouldn’t even question it, Raph. c’mon.” Jesus plucked a piece of flesh off of Raphael’s shoulder, and they followed their companion, pulling pieces of walker off of each other. 

Daryl was right this time, there was a cabin. Clearing it was easy enough, and Raphael’s shotgun felt good in his hands again. Unfortunately, the shower didn’t work, much to Jesus’s disappointment. While he was bemoaning himself, Raph stared out the window. There was a clearing of trees, and he was positive that he saw the sparkle of water. “Hey, quit bitchin. Look.” He pointed, and Jesus broke out into a huge grin. 

“Race you.” He said, tapping his shoulder, and he took off, leaving a very bewildered Raph behind. This dude was giving him fucking whiplash! He left his gear behind, and darted out after him, chasing him through the trees, and the grass. Jesus won of course, but Raphael had so much momentum that he crashed right into him, and they toppled to the ground, laughing and shoving. 

“Look, it’s a pond!” Raphael crawled to the edge, and dunked his head in, shaking everything out of his hair. When he resurfaced, Jesus was already pulling his hat and coat off, and splashing water onto his face. Raphael was much less delicate, stripping his shirt off, tossing it in the water, pulling his boots and socks off, rolling his pant legs up, and stepping in, splashing water on himself. He was so caught up in cleaning himself, he didn’t realise that Jesus had followed suit, wading in a few feet behind him. 

“I am sorry that they did that to you. Your scars.”

Raph turned around, and merely shrugged. “It’s in the past.” And that would be the last of his smoothness for the day, as Jesus had just dunked his own head, and flipped his hair back, using his fingers to comb through the strands. His jaw slackened, watching him. Everything about him was just so fucking alluring, the way his muscles moved, how shiny red his lips were, the water tailing down his face, his unbelievably pale blue eyes… staring right at him. He cleared his throat, and forced himself to look away, though the image was forever ingrained into his memory. There was a song that his dad used to play all the time called 'She's got the look'. That's what it felt like, watching him. He scrubbed his face, and while he was doing so, he heard Jesus move closer to him. 

“You missed a spot…” His voice was soft, so soft, and his touch was just as gentle, using his thumb to rub at his neck. They were close to each other now, close enough that Raph could see every detail in Jesus's luminescent eyes. In his mind's eye, he was pulling him closer, running a hand through his hair… but all He did was stand there with a stupid look on his face, staring down at the water. "Hey. Raph. Look at me." Gently, Jesus cupped his cheek, and turned his head to face him. "I need to know now if you want me to keep going. Not right now in this pond, obviously, but...along the way. I need to know if I'm imagining things or not." The look in his eyes was incredible. It was one of longing, heartache, hope. 

Raphael but his lip, and smiled. Not his usual cocky, arrogant asshole smile. A genuine one, and he saw the immediate relief all over Jesus's face. "Please keep going. I mean, I don't know why. I don't even know your real name, I don't know anything about you." He wanted to say more, he wanted to tell him how beautiful Raphael thought he was, how grateful he was for the save earlier, how much he liked last night. But he thought he might fuck it up, so he didn't. 

"Well… " Jesus smiled, resting his hand on Raphael's neck, fingers lightly stroking his skin. "My name's Paul Rovia. My friends call me Jesus, it's up to you. I was a martial arts instructor in Virginia… I've been told that I have a big mouth, which. Heh. They're not wrong." He winked at Raphael, and he melted, his face softening. "I like flowers, holding hands, and warm mornings in bed. And… I think I like you."

Raphael's skin warmed, and he could feel his heart thud just a little faster with every admission that Jesus made. "Flores." 

"What?"

"Raphael Flores. My name. It uh… it means flowers." Raph smiled, taking a step closer. "I was a bartender in New Orleans, I've been told that I was a cocky asshole.They're not wrong either." he laughed, and in a moment of sudden bravery, he tucked Jesus's hair behind his ear. "I like watching the sunset over the swamp, I like cooking, playing with people's hair, and I think I might like you, too." In a second burst of courage, he leaned down, and kissed Jesus, cupping his face, and pulling him flush against his chest. Why? Because these were end times, and fuck it. Jesus was pretty, they could all die at any point, and he’ll be damned if he wasn’t going to kiss him at least once. Thankfully, Jesus reciprocated, and it wasn’t long before his hand was sliding down Raphael’s back, igniting sparks with his touch. Raphael reluctantly pulled away, and he gave Jesus a wink, their hands touching each other until the last possible second, when they climbed out of the pond to get dressed. "C'mon, we should get back." 

The time spent getting dressed was filled with teasing, jokes, and a surprisingly flustered Jesus. Finally, a victory. Well, somewhat. He couldn’t help, from that moment on, every time he looked at Jesus, he saw the Baywatch moment he had in the pond, his skin glistening, his lips so red… They went back to the cabin, and Jesus set about pulling out dinner, while Raphael elected to hang out with Daryl, who was on the floor by the window, cleaning his weapons.

Soon after he plopped on the floor next to him, Daryl was showing him how to load his crossbow. "I been doin' this for years an' years, so I make it look real easy."

That he did. He showed Raph how to pull the string back, and the position to put the bolt in. Then, he gave it to Raph to try. He struggled just pulling the string back, let alone holding it long enough to put the bolt in. 

"Ain't half bad, for someone who's never done this before. Loudmouth over there tried once, ended up with a bruise on his hand that lasted for a month." Daryl chuckled at the apparently humorous memory, shaking his head. 

"Feels kinda like pulling a line, except there's nothing trying to kill you on the other end." He grinned, leaning back against the wall. 

Daryl grunted. "Kinda wish we lived near a swamp. Sounds fun. Hunting gators, I mean." He sniffed, and in Raphael's peripheral vision, he could see Daryl give him a sidelong look. Then a smile. Good. From what Jesus said about him, making him smile was the best thing you could do for him. 

“It is. Maybe someday, you’ll take me hunting, I’ll take you fishing.” 

“Yeah. Hey...You ever ridden a bike b’fore?”

“That was what I was riding before the Saviors sent me sliding down the road.”

Another grunt. “What kind?”

“Just a scrambler I picked up. I had a Harley, but it didn’t feel right, bringing her out here, and besides, my house was overrun by the time I got back.” Raph shrugged. He missed his old bike, he knew exactly how she worked, every hum and knob and gear. “What about you?”

“I have a bike, yeah. Built it myself in a friend’s garage.” He bit his lip, and turned away.

Jesus had been sitting at the table the whole time, listening in. “Daryl, he’s staying. You can ask.”

Raph frowned, confused. He turned to Daryl, who was looking at the floor, picking at a splinter on the floor. “There’s extra parts down there. Probably enough for another bike, an’ if not, there’s an autoshop not that far from Alexandria. I’d have to ask Aaron but-”

“- He’ll say yes.”

“But, if you wan’, we could build you a bike. You can come with me, when I go out lookin’ for people.”

Even Jesus seemed surprised by this offer, eyebrows raising. Raphael didn’t have to think it over. “Hell yeah, I’m down.”

“Good.” Daryl gave him a half smile, and a nod.

“Alright, no need to get mushy over there, come on and eat.” Jesus said. They got up, and sat at the table across from him, chowing down on the makeshift sandwiches he’d made. Raphael enjoyed them a lot, of course, he was just enjoying being alive right now. Speaking of things he was enjoying, Jesus was giving him a look that nearly set his skin on fire. Not only that, but when he licked his fingers, he was staring right at him, taking his time. He looked like he was doing something with his legs, but Raphaels were tucked under him, as he usually sat.

“Quit fuckin’ kickin’ me, Jesus!” Daryl peered underneath the table, and delivered a hard kick to Jesus’s shin. “Almost thought you were tryin’ t’ play footsie or some shit.” He scoffed, shooting him a glare, and returning to his sandwich, all the while Raphael was trying not to laugh, as Jesus’s face turned a delicate shade of pink. 

“Sorry. Must be antsy, or something.” He muttered, biting back a guilty smile. 

They sat in silence for the remainder of the meal, and as Raphael finished, rain began to fall on the roof of the cabin, and thunder began to roll over head. Go figure, there were apparently holes in the roof, so the places they could sit comfortably were few and far between. As night fell, it got cold, bone chillingly cold, and while Jesus was okay with his many layers Daryl - in his cut off shirts - and Raphael - in his one long sleeve - were shivering, wrapping their arms around their legs, rubbing their hands together. Both were well used to the sweltering heats of their respective cities, and the cold wasn’t something they often had to deal with, before it all started. 

As such things often do, a minorly inconvenient situation turned to worse. For some reason, storms made the walkers more sensitive to life, and before long, there was a small group moaning outside of the cabin, scratching at the windows, thumping against the reinforced door. At least it was a distraction, Raph leaning against the wall with his bat at the ready. Somehow, this felt worse than actually fighting them. Waiting for them to break though, hearing their awful moans, watching these things that used to be human gnaw at the glass, uncaring that their teeth were breaking off, that their mouth was getting for open wider, and wider. 

Raphael shuddered, and even he couldn’t say if it was from the cold or not. He tore his gaze away from the Walkers, and instead looked to Jesus. He was by the other window, holding his knives, avoiding looking at the walkers as well. He must have felt Raphael’s gaze, because his head suddenly turned, and he met his eyes. There was an understanding there, a mutual feeling that lingered on Raphael’s fingertips. 

“Um, Wasn’t there questions you had for me?”

“Aw shit, right. How many walkers have you killed?” Daryl tipped his head from the position by the door.

“Uh… more than one, but less than a hundred? I don’t keep track, sorry.”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Two.”

“Why?”

Raphael stared at Daryl for a moment, reliving that week, all in a span of three seconds. “They tortured me. They laughed. They tortured other people in front of me, they killed other people in front of me.” He took a jagged break, the smell of acrid smoke filling up his lungs. “You saw the scars. Is that good enough?”

Daryl and Jesus exchanged a look, and they nodded. “Good ‘nuff for me. Might have to tell Rick the whole story, though.”

“I doubt it. Just tell him it was the Saviors, He’ll understand. Did you see who killed them, though?”

“Not really. I was pretty fucked up. I think someone had a sword though, but I’m not sure. I ran once the fires started.”

“Fires? Shit, might have been the group that Michone and Rick , and all them ran into.” Daryl said. “Michone, she’s the one with the sword. She said they burnt the place once they left, there was walker bodies layin’ everywhere.”

“Probably them, then. I got free, found my shit, and ran. The two I killed, they were runners, too. I, uh, slit one guy’s throat, got the other one in the head. I didn’t see their faces.” And for that, he was grateful, in a guilty way. 

“That’s a good thing.” Jesus’s voice was gentle again, and it looked like he wanted to comfort Raph, and boy did he need it, but the knocking of a bloody skull against the windowpane kept him where he was. “Trust me, Raph. It is.” 

“Yeah. Thanks.” Raph sniffed, and cleared his throat, looking up at the ceiling. “Anyways, who’s this Rick and Michone?” His voice was higher than he would have liked, but anything to change the topic. 

“Rick’s been my friend almost since it started. They’re both good people. He was a sheriff. Michone’s badass.”

“A little scary at times, but she cares about people. And toothpaste, apparently.” Jesus smiled, flipping one of his knives over in his hand. “Rick is their somewhat military leader, he usually takes point on raids like what we did to the Saviors. Michone helps him keep a level head, and she usually ends up saving his ass a couple times.”

Daryl grunted in agreement. “It’s up to them, an’ Maggie, if you can stay. Maggie’s kinda taken over the leadership of Alexandria. Kinda like what Jesus is doin’ over at Hilltop.”

“You’re not from the same place?”

“No. We’re not that far from each other, though.” Jesus reassured him. “Honestly, I would live in Alexandria if I could, but Hilltop needs me.” He took a breath, and he must have seen the worry on Raphael’s face. “Don’t worry, You can trust Daryl. I’ll stay long enough for you to get settled, and I come over fairly often anyways.”

Raphael nodded. He still had the small spikes of fear in his heart, but Jesus was right. He had Daryl. He’d be fine. 

Just as he had the feeling of comfort, gunshots rang out. They all ducked in sinc, holding their weapons at the ready. There were motors running, and someone seemed to be picking off the walkers outside of the cabin. Daryl moved to Raphael’s window, peering out. Then, he broke out into a bright smile. “We’re good. Carl’s takin’ em out. Looks like he’s got Sasha, and Abraham with him, too.”

Raphael gave him a questioning look, and he nodded. “They’re our people. Good people.” 

After a few minutes, the groaning stopped. They unlocked the door, and there was a giant red - headed man, ginning like a fool. “Howdy there, comrades! Glad to see you’re still alive and kickin’ the chicken. Whoa now, who’s this?” His eyes found Raphael, and though they were the same height, he found himself intimidated by his attitude. 

“Abraham, this is Raphael. We found him.” Jesus stepped between them, attempting to lower the intensity of Abraham’s gaze.

“Found him, huh? What happened to the car? We saw it was flipped head over boots on the road where you were supposed to be.”

“My fault. We were driving out, but there was a walker. I swerved, hit something sharp, flipped over.” Daryl spoke up quickly, before Jesus could. “I got lucky, had my seatbelt on. These two didn’t.” He gestures to their still bruised faces, and the gash on Raphael’s nose. 

“Well, can he talk?” 

“Yeah. I can talk. Thanks for saving us, sir.” He held his hand out, and his whole attitude changed from hostile to welcoming. 

“Now that’s the kinda thing I like in a man. Respect, and gratitude.” He shook Raph’s hand in an iron grip, and he did his best to return it. 

"Well, my dad didn't raise an asshole, sir." He grinned. 

"Good man, he was. Alright, let's blow this popsicle stand!" 

They gathered their things, and they went outside in the pouring rain. Sasha gave Raphael an amiable smile, and as Carl helped load their stuff in the back of the truck, he tipped his hat, and pointed to both of their damaged eyes. "Guess one of us got lucky."

Soon enough, they were driving at breakneck speed through the storm, lightning cracking overhead, the three riding in the bed of the truck, jostling into each other when there was a particularly sharp turn. Raphael was having the time of his life, watching the storm overhead. He loved them as a kid, staring out the hurricane proof windows, jumping when lighting struck. 

They were all soaked by the time they drove through the gates of Alexandria, but they were safe. That was what mattered. They hopped out of the truck, Daryl going off to talk with Abraham, Jesus unloading the truck. Raph decided to help him, following him into the storage room. 

"Daryl's figuring out where you'll be staying for tonight, since Rick and Michone aren't here, and Maggie's… Detained." Jesus grinned, and put down what he was holding. "I can't believe you did that, earlier."

"Did what?" he asked, feigning innocence. 

"You know what." As Jesus walked past him to grab another bag, he leaned in and whispered "The kiss in the pond, obviously."

"Being secretive, are we? Scared of something?" Raphael asked, beginning to unload cans, and separate them into piles. 

"No, of course not. But, if anyone finds out, I'm worried they won't let you stay, here, or in my room with me."

"Why, would they think I seduced you, or something?" 

"Hard to say. They're suspicious people, and it's better safe than sorry. So you'd be okay staying at my place here?" Jesus stopped, meeting his eyes. Raph realized that he only did that when he was trying to convey something, or see the truth. 

"Of course. As much as I like Daryl, he's too independent."

"Good. It'd be nice coming home to you." 

That shocked Raphael. That's the kindest thing anyone has ever said to him. He blushed, and mimicked an 'aw shucks' movement he'd seen from Daryl earlier. "I suppose… " he felt his face heat up, and he looked at the floor. "... It'd be nice to be around you a lot more." They both grinned stupidly, and Jesus checked to see if anyone was around, then he knelt down next to Raphael. 

"Since we have a habit of being honest with each other, I do have to tell you that it's hard for me to open up. To actually trust someone. I'm sure you can understand." for the first time, Jesus looked vulnerable. This was him opening up a little, wasn't it? 

"Of course. I can be… A jackass, at times. But I swear I'll never hurt you, cross my heart, swear to die, needle in my eye and all that." Raphael took his hand, and gave it a squeeze. 

Jesus smiled, bringing Raphael's hand up to his mouth, and giving it a gentle kiss. "And I swear to do the same. C'mon, let's finish unloading the truck." 

And so they did, doing it as neatly and as quickly as they could, so they could change into dry clothes sooner. They were finishing up the last bag when Daryl came in, giving them a nod. "Angel, I told them about you, so you're good in Alexandria, an' we all agree it's better if you stay with someone you trust, so you'll be shackin' up with Jesus. Once it's daylight, and Maggie an' Rick can talk to you, I'll let you know." He gave Raph another half smile, and tilted his head. "I gotta go, Aaron's havin' ribs for dinner, an' I ain't missing that. See ya, kid."

"Later, D." Raphael gave him a grin as he walked away. 

"He really likes you. I'd be jealous, if I didn't know any better." 

"Mmh. Bet it'd look good on you."

"Please. It'd look amazing. C'mon, let's get inside. My place isn't far." They ran through the rain, and they were panting when they finally shut the door behind them. "Leave the wet clothes here, I'll grab some." Jesus shed his hat and jacket, and the remainder of his soaked clothes, as he darted through the house, rummaging through his drawers. 

Raph took more time with it, watching Jesus from afar, noting the way that his back curved, and how his shoulders moved. He caught himself staring - yet again - and finished declothing, catching the shirt and pants that were tossed to him. The shirt was comfy, a white button up. The pants were sweatpants, loose and warm. He slipped them on easily enough, and when Jesus flopped onto his back on the bed, Raphael did the same next to him. He found his hand, and they hooked their fingers together, cherishing the warmth. Then, Raphael turned his head so he could look at Jesus some more, but he ended up looking into his beautiful eyes again. And so he smiled. 

"We should probably go to sleep." Jesus said, his voice soft. Everything was soft in this moment, the candlelight, the rain on the roof, the bed, his hand. The look on his face. His lips. 

"Yeah, probably. It's past midnight." Raphael turned on his side, and so did Jesus. "Thank you."

"For what?" 

Existing. Looking like he did. "Not letting Daryl shoot me in the head."

"It was nothing. Pay it forward, as I did." 

Raphael's eyelids felt heavy, and he could feel his breathing slow. The next thing he knew, there was a blanket draped over them. He nuzzled his head into Jesus's neck, but then he moved. Fortunately, it was to put an arm under his head, and he was enveloped in the warming scent of Jesus. "You're beautiful."

"So are you. Goodnight, Raph." Raphael felt a kiss on his forehead, and he drifted off into the most peaceful sleep he's had since this whole bullshit started.


End file.
